


Don't Go

by Anzellous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:10:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anzellous/pseuds/Anzellous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After becoming sober, Gamzee isn't sure how to feel when he finds Tavros' body. </p>
<p>He just acts on the urges that seem natural.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Go

**Author's Note:**

> My first work posted to AO3.

The silence screamed into his ears the countless profanities he'd both said an heard. The judgmental silence sank it's claws into his thick gray hide and tried to make him scream. It was a commendable attempt, to be sure, but he was all screamed out. Every scratched, drawn out syllable of his scream had been stolen already, along with his royal purple tears, diluted though they were. His mind was anxious and tired, spent in every possible way, and though he knew he had a few more things he needed to handle, a few more sickening lowbloods who needed to see the light, who needed to be brought down onto their knees and worship the gods--him and him, that could wait.

That could wait. It had to wait. It had to sit its ass down and wait a goddamn minute, because even in his startlingly clear mind, with anger omnidirectional and indiscriminate, he felt that this was a little more important. Just a little bit more important. 

The Purple Bard looked at Tavros's body, limp and lifeless, his veins spilling brown-colored miracles and he suddenly felt his anger fade, only a little, and managed to feel an emotion that had no place in the body of the rightful heir to the massive throng of Subjugglators. He felt pity. A pity so strong that he was certain that this was what Karkat ranted about all the time with his inane quadrant bullshit. This was what he meant when he claimed that pity was the base of a matespritship. Pity brought a pang of resentment, knowing that this chocolate troll didn't reciprocate in the least, made him sick, made him want him for ever and for always. He wanted to pump him full of purple, his blood, his tears, his everything--he wanted to devour him, internalize him, grind him down into his own special stardust and snort him--be high on Tavros, be high on his own self-imposed, unrequited version of hell. 

He went down on his knees, just enough to lean down and take his limp body into his arms. Unseeing eyes looked at him, and he thought he could make out something in his eyes. Something fearful and brave and at the same time adult in a way that was decidedly unlike the Tavros he'd grown used to rapping with. He died full of beauty, wearing an expression to mask the fear he usually wore openly. 

He died the way the Gamzee would have wanted to go. 

Gamzee brought his lips to Tavros's--perhaps his godtier made his kiss strong enough to invoke a dead dreamself, and bring his Tavros back. He demanded to see him get up, hear his voice be a little more self-assured, a little more flirty, hopefully. He waited, with no response. His brain was dead to the initial pain, and he brought his lips to the limp ones again, pushing his tongue past lips that couldn't resist. 

He tasted of blood and sweetness, and like fresh copper miracles with a hint of coffee. He tasted like heavy, and the burn of sin made him feel like he was dwelling in hell. A stomach made strong from sweeps of sopor and faygo with small amounts of actual food in between gave a hefty churn and the pain and panic descended on him. Tavros was gone--dead--ripped from him by a spider-based jack-fuck who didn't know how to respect the property of a higher blooded troll. But she would learn soon, and she would spread the news in disgusting cerulean: you do not fuck with Gamzee Makara anymore.

Instead of standing, he stayed kneeling, taking Tavros's lips again and again; once, twice, three times, four--feeling and indescribable panic rise in the pit of his chest. One hand went to his cheek, rubbing the thick flesh before the other hand joined it on the other cheek. 

"Don't go," he said softly. Too soft, it was almost imperceptible even to his own auditory nubs. Gamzee pulled the limp body up by it's head, staring with a question into dead eyes with no answers. The rage came and he shook the head he held, turning it this way and that, shifting it up and down, demanding answers. He heard a snap followed by the tear of meat. No comprehension. "I SAID DON'T MOTHERFUCKING GO!"

Another sharp twist, enraged toss, hard pull, and the head was still in his hands, neck barely connected to the body by stringy tendon and ropy muscle. Gamzee gave a pull. The head was severed--not cleanly--but severed. 

The knowledge of what he'd done dawned on him, but he felt no remorse. Tav was his property. He'd always been. The other troll just wasn't always aware of it. 

"Don't go," he said again, bringing his head into a hard embrace. He heard the skull crack a little. His grip lightened. "I'LL EAT YOU UP; I love you so…"


End file.
